


The Nature of Wolves

by therogueheart



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Animal Curse, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Character Study, Curse Breaking, Cursed Jaskier, Curses, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Full Wolf Jaskier, Geraskier, Geraskier Endgame, Human to animal transformation, Loyalty, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Witch Curses, Wolf Instincts, Wolf Jaskier, animal to human transformation, mild violence, no bestiality, tags will update, wolf curse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therogueheart/pseuds/therogueheart
Summary: Life, it seems, is not content to leave Geralt well alone. He finds himself the guardian of a scrawny, young wolf with wide, blue eyes and an affinity for biting at him.He should, of course, know better than to presume any of it was normal.Also known as there's so many AU's where Geralt becomes a wolf after the mountain but all of zero for the role reversal. So now there is one.
Relationships: (Past) Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerburg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 381





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well hiiiii. So this is my second ever work in the Geraskier/Witcher fandom and I fear I've taken 'go big or go home' rather literally. I've only ever watched The Witcher TV series, and most of my knowledge has been gleamed from various maps and no less than 43 visits to The Witcher Wiki. Please don't lynch me for any mistakes or clashing details!
> 
> This will perhaps be one of my longest works, and I am aiming for a rough 30,000 word count. I know this first chapter is rather slow to start, but I will be picking up the pace and the events in future chapters. If it is unclear;  
> The relationship between Geralt and Jaskier in his cursed form is purely exploratory and platonic, and mostly serves to repair their bond and to aid Geralt in accepting his feelings. This fic is **not** bestiality.

His own words rung like a tower bell in his mind, even long after their echo had faded from the mountain air. He regretted them, more so than he had perhaps ever regretted anything before. The Djinn, his wishes, Renfri, any predecessor of perhaps the cruellest act he had ever committed. Though even in cruelty, there was kindness. Sending Jaskier away was perhaps the only sure-fire method of keeping him safe. Of keeping him far away from the dangers that simply existing in Geralt’s presence brought. 

_If Life could give me one blessing._

Oh, but it had. It had given him _many_. Kaer Morhen, when he ought to have frozen in the snow and the wind. Thousands of bites and wounds that ought to have taken his life, if not for his abilities, or a lucky cut with his sword, or any other number of factors. 

_Jaskier._

Perhaps, arguably, the _biggest_ blessing of them all. Before Jaskier, Geralt had been alone. _Lonely_ , even if he didn’t want to admit it. He was no better than the monsters he slayed in the eyes of everyone else, a butcher, a beast. Something to be feared. He had roamed and lived in the darkness, on the edge of the shadows that bordered his life and theirs. His existence had been blood and fire and pain and fear. 

Jaskier had taken one look at him and had simply decided to completely and utterly disregard _all of it_. The bard had skipped over to him with not a trace of fear in his scent, hands on his hips and voice lilted as he made implications of his interest. Not a punch to the gut nor a kidnapping had deterred him. No amount of hostility nor the feral snapping of his teeth, like a provoked wolf, had chased him away. 

Jaskier had stuck by his side. Had bore each harsh remark, each physical attack, each dismissal. Had tended his wounds, stoked his reputation, softened his sharp edges. Had come back to him, time and time again, like the loyal rise and fall of the ocean's tide. Loyal, more than even a faithful dog. Had never, not once, looked at Geralt with fear. Disdain. Disgust. 

_It’s your fault._

Gods, but it had killed him. The tremble in Jaskier’s hands and bottom lip. The gloss of his eyes as tears rose, so similar to the time he clung to Geralt, trusting even though it was Geralt’s own wish that was killing him. The soft, broken rasp of his voice. The acrid scent of sorrow, pain, fear. The way he flinched back as though struck, like Geralt’s words had carried a physical blow. 

It was nothing less than Geralt deserved. He had been more of a fool than he had ever accused the bard of being - And this was his penance. Destiny reminding him of his place in her grand design. He stayed, long after the wind had carried Jaskier’s scent away, and longer still, until the restlessness returned to his bones and he knew his Path converged where it had begun; a lonesome life of slaying the beasts that lived alongside him in the darkness. 

His return was without fanfare, just flat stares and the infrequent nod of a head. The fire licked at the darkness and there was a flat space of grass where Jaskier’s bedroll had lain, void of life. There was no strum of a lute, no soft voice. Just the bustle of those preparing to leave in the morning. Those settling down to sleep away the night. 

Roach’s eyes glittered in the fire light when he approached, her gaze baleful. When he lay his forehead atop hers, there was a sweet, floral scent mixing with her wild, musky one. The faint wisp of salt, where the bard’s tears had soaked into her fur, turning it stiff and flaky under his touch. Jaskier, though overflowing with emotions, had rarely been one to cry. Even with his own blood stealing away his breath Jaskier had not shed a tear. And yet here, with Roach, he had cried enough that the bitter scent lingered, hours after he was gone. 

And he was. 

Gone. 

Geralt could detect no traces of him. No scent on the wind or the stumble of footsteps. No birdsong. The lark had flown, the wind carrying him away like so many autumn leaves. 

And in the morning, he let the wind carry him too, swords at his back, his gaze of molten gold fixed on the horizon. He told himself he was looking for his Path, and not a flicker of green or blue. That he was looking for a sign on where to go next, and not how to follow the whispers of flora and citrus. 

For the briefest passing of time, he entertained finding Yennefer. They were bound together, choice or not, and despite the doubt of his feelings, they existed. Small and broken but breathing. She was a powerful Witch, and he was a Witcher, and were those not better matched than a human bard who sang like a summer swallow and a Witcher? 

He killed the notion as swiftly as any monstrous beast. He neither deserved that, nor did she. She had only wanted him in flesh, before he had recklessly acted. Had eyes only for the power that broiled beneath his skin. It would be no fairer to stay with her than it had been to send Jaskier away. Nor no truer to his feelings, for of the two, he could only say for certain which one had grown naturally, like a determined flower in the shade of a mountain. 

“Just you and I” he voiced aloud, fingers twisting in Roach’s thick mane. She offered no sound, had offered little since they begun their new journey. They said animals had no coherent thought nor emotion, but that was about as true as it was for a Witcher. She was angry at him. He could sense it in the coil of her shoulders, the way she remained loyal, but less affectionate. 

As steadily as Jaskier had woven his way into Geralt’s life and heart, he had done the same for the snappish mare. Had ignored all of Geralt’s warnings - sneakily as he had - to win her affections with wild berries, oats and the gentle lull of conversation when Jaskier believed Geralt to be asleep, or too far away to hear it. 

She had eventually gone from tolerating the human - As Geralt initially had, to treating him much the same as she did her master. He twisted the lock of copper hair in his grip, wondering idly if she would miss him, or if as a beast she would more miss the fodder and the gentle touches. 

Geralt did not travel far that day, allowing Roach to plod along while he remained lost in the bitter swell of his thoughts and emotions. They had perhaps gone a bare collection of miles before Geralt reined her in, and decided a few days' rest would do them both good. He would make camp early, and find a town to stop at for a handful of days, enough for Roach to gorge herself on fodder and regain some muscle for the journey. 

Mm. Yes. That was as good a place to start as any. 

He built the fire large and ate the last of his rations, growing accustomed to the silence around him. No chatter, no song, just the spit of the flames and Roach's occasional sniffle as she nosed about the grass on offer. 

Silence had once been the majority of Geralt's travels. No conversations, no other presence. Just him and the woodlands. It occurred to him then, just how _normal_ Jaskier's presence had become. How quickly the silence had blossomed with life. How the strum of his lute went from an irritating break of the peace to the soothing sound that often had him falling asleep. 

He awoke with a jolt in the morning, the sensation of falling startling him into sitting up on his elbows, eyes roaming the camp. Surprise became alarm at the lack of a second bedroll, at no half-naked Jaskier struggling to the up his bedding, and Geralt's throat felt tight as he remembered that such a sight was no longer his luxury. He would awake alone for the foreseeable future. 

No Yennerfer, naked and soft in his hands. No Jaskier, dishevelled and wailing about termites in his breeches. 

Only Roach, her lower lip hanging as she dozed, making the most of his lack of hurry. He watched her for a while, and then roused himself into motion when his bladder demanded it. 

The morning consisted of preparations and chores. He washed his things in the stream nearby, collected water, rinsed Roach down (and ignored her pinned ears at the cold) and went about to see what he could forage. Some over-ripe berries, wax leaves and a wood pigeon were his yield, and he ate in a sullen silence. 

The feathers he stored in a pouch, knowing they would be useful to stuff a pillow or to insulate a jacket, and by mid-day he packed camp, and truly begun his journey. What should have felt like freedom and familiarity felt like being lost; felt like the bone-deep ache for something just out of his reach. He chided himself for his poetic sorrow; perhaps he truly had been around Jaskier for too long. 

It had not been but a day, and he was already pining like a maiden. It was enough to set a scowl firm on his jaw, and he put his heels to his mare. Vesemir would flog him raw for such folly and whimsy. 

Kakveleein breaches the horizon. A dank and grim town bordered by forestry hunted bare and hauntingly silent. Begrudgingly, Geralt recognises this is sort of place people might expect him to settle. Devoid of warmth and the life that makes it worth living. The inhabitants eye him as Roach steps along the dirt streets, but they neither say nor throw anything his way. 

He tried not to dwell on the irony of being in this cold, lifeless place now that he is once again alone and poor of company. There's no discernible inn that he can see, but he has no qualms about camping or staying in a stall with Roach. He has faced a far worse night. 

A segment of fence serves to the Roach up, and the tavern is at the least warm and with bodies when he enters. They stare, silent in their judgement, but the woman behind the bar grasps a tankard at his approach. Her voice is thick with accent and slow when she speaks. 

"Whit'll your poi'sin be?". There are a meagre three barrels on offer, two ales and a cider. His choice is bitter and sharp, lacking in any discernible flavour, but serves its purpose of wetting his throat. A single brass coin is enough payment, but the barkeep doesn't move, watching him like a child might watch a dying bug. 

"There be more'f ye coming?" She asked after a moment, when he had raised his gaze and met hers evenly, waiting for whatever she had been holding on her tongue. Geralt supposed she meant more Witchers, and shook his head. 

"We travel alone. One Witcher is usually enough to sour a village. Two is like to cause hands to reach for swords". Witchers were also, in general, not a companionable breed. Travelling alone was easier than risking fighting your brethren, a clash of two terrible beasts that left rivers of blood in its wake. Geralt had witnessed it only once before in a small village near the coast, in his early days of roaming as a full fledged Witcher. Not much of the village folk had remained, to say nothing of the Witchers, who died in unison at the end of their respective blades. 

"Nit _yer_ kind, Witcher. Peoples. Ye the second new face to pass this week" she huffed at him, grasping her own tankard and taking a generous pull. Geralt paused, head tilting. It was an equal chance that the previous visitor had or had not been in his company. After a long moment, he spoke. 

"Who passed this town before me?". He had no idea how he would continue if she described a witch or a bard. Would he try to catch their trail? To fill the cracks he had jaggedly spread across their friendship? Would he turn tail, run South instead of South-West? 

"Mighty sad fellow. Young, t'pretty for a lad. Ye could _taste_ 'is mournin'. Came from the mount'n". 

He knew, even without any inclination towards the visitors appearance nor name, that it had been _Jaskier_. No other man from that mountain had been coinable as _pretty_ , and Jaskier had more than enough cause to look miserable. Knowing he was the cause that such a bright sun had been clouded, his ale was suddenly all the more bitter. 

He spent the night in a cramped, drafty stall with Roach and turned for the South-East when the sun was high and bright in the sky. 

The days passed by like the ticking of a clock, unstoppable and sweeping him along like the flow of a river. Roach's hoofbeats became the new birdsong, a marker of time slipping through his fingers like sand. Kakveleein became miles of dirt path and forest, which bled into a tiny settlement that could not be considered anything but a cluster of huts. Geralt stopped only long enough to water Roach and purchase some dried mutton, before he moved along. 

He led Roach right through the outskirts of the deadlands to avoid Blaviken - Having stuck true to his warning and never returned since Renfri's blood had dried on his hands. Yepaden offered an inn with a gaunt mattress and a plate of seasoned vegetables. 

He considered, very briefly, returning to Kaer Morhen. The fortress was perhaps the only place he could ever recall considering a home, and it would be safety in solitude, if nothing else. But the blue mountains were cold and there would be no coin to be earned there. He dismissed the idea. Perhaps, if he was able to garner a fat enough purse from a years' work, he would return to wait out the harsh winter. 

Days became weeks, weeks became months. He travelled down, gradually navigating inland where the opportunity of coin would be greater and the weather would be less harsh. Temeria was welcoming of him and his services, ghouls and wraiths and a rabid bear that managed to thoroughly maul him before he drove his sword into its throat and through its skull. 

Temeria morphed into Carrora, a modest kingdom who's suspected wild wolf pack turned out to be a mated pair of feral werewolves. It took him three days to hunt them both, and he pulled a tooth from each before setting their bodies alight in the rolling fields. The King paid handsomely for the end of their plague, two hundred gold coins and the offer of a fresh mare from his stables. Geralt took the coins and declined the mare - Though he would have received even more for selling her at the next kingdom. She would have been an additional burden. 

It was in a tavern, drinking away his stitched thigh that he caught the ghost of a voice, greedy and off-key. A song that trickled down his spine like the cold. Toss A Coin had been garbled at him from one end of the Continent to another, and The Wolf and The Mountain almost as much, though the mountain was a metaphor for a giant of a man Geralt had cut down not far from Cintra, a rapist and a murderer who had tried his luck on the wrong opponent. 

He had heard snippets, of course. Jaskier's valiant manipulations of his exploits had garnered Geralt a reputation he had no doubt had travelled the world from fisherman's mouths and other musically inclined nitwits. But this was the first time that he had actually sat and heard a ballad being sung in earnest. Her voice made him cringe from his solitary seat in the corner, too used to Jaskier's performances to really offer anything constructive or supportive to anyone else's attempts. 

Not that he had been overly constructive nor supportive of Jaskier's. More often than not the bard's tales had been met with his teeth or a fist. Reflecting, he realised just how unwelcoming he had been to the bard, and just how little it had affected his loyalties. Geralt would not liken the bard to a dog - For sure enough Jaskier could nip back. 

_Are you perhaps short of a marble?!_

Geralt's personal favourite, of all the creative and colourful insults. 

He considered crossing to Rivia, perhaps settling there for a short while. Geralt had no proof that Rivia was his true birthplace, only Vesermir's word that his mother had left a note on his prone form, lest a man find him before the wolves and wargs did. 

Considered Cintra and it's burnt husk. There were rumours that people had taken opportunity of its emptiness, that Kings and Lords and every commoner from Nilfgaard to the Dragon Mountain was laying claim to the land, but he quelled that. Cintra would be land rife with blood and war for decades to come until someone put a solid stake on the throne - And Geralt had no intentions of getting in the midst. 

And then wind of a contract in Dillengen came to his ears, a beast that could be anything from a moonwraith to a cemetaur. But the purse was heavy and so Geralt turned Roach on her hocks, driving her into the Yaruga Forest. The place was dense and long, but would take less time than making his way through Bruggo or Mayena. The packed in trees made it hard for beasts to roam, and so monsters were little heard of here. 

The darkness of night was closing in on their fifth night through when he noticed it. Soft footfall, almost silent if not for how haphazardly and carelessly the beast crashed through the undergrowth. It was moving parallel to him, keeping steady pace with Roach's dreary walk. It could not be a large thing, and the wind carried no scent, but Geralt would put decent coin on the beast being a wild dog. Roach's ears were flicking, too alert for her to be dismissing their travel companion as a harmless deer or curious elk. 

Whatever it was followed them until Geralt took camp near a large redwood, and then seemingly lost interest. Or, more the like, went off to fetch the rest of the pack. Geralt barely slept that night, sword across his thighs, meditating but alert to his surroundings. The forest continued to breathe around him, but nothing dared to come close to the flames of his camp. Well, save for a curious swallow that cooed at him for a while, before taking its leave. 

Morning came, and so did their shadow. The same clumsy tailing that sometimes faded from his range, and disappeared entirely by nightfall. It was not out of the question that they were being stalked - Either by the scout of a pack or by a lone, hungry beast waiting to strike. Geralt found himself more often than not forgoing sleep, and found their journey stilted as he stopped frequently to try and spot what followed. 

On the sixth night, the wind howled and the temperature went from cool to biting, though to Geralt it was nought more than a brisk breeze. Roach huddled against the shrubbery he had hobbled her besides, his spare cloak tied over her as shelter. He built a small fire and encased himself using Naxui - A 'bubble' magic. It did not stop the wind entirely, but it abated it enough for the fire to survive. 

That was when he first saw it. 

A brief flash of reflective eyes in the light of the fire, there and gone so quickly that Geralt would have thought he'd imagined it, if not for his confidence in his abilities. He heaved a sigh and cast a glance at Roach. No sleep tonight either, then. 

By morning, Geralt was exhausted and the wind had blown itself out of their range, leaving behind nought but the cold. Geralt re-stoked the fire, crawled back into his bedroll, and fell asleep. Roach would alert him if anything came near that his own senses did not pick up. He slept well into the day, the exhaustion of his travels and caution lending him solid rest. 

Breakfast - Or luncheon, as the time stood, was hard cheese and wax leaves. Geralt wanted to pack camp and make it to Dillengen before anyone else managed to seize the contract. Though his purse was still heavy, Geralt had the mind to fill it until it weighed him down, and to take a short break. 

_We could head to the coast. You could rest._

He could imagine it. So very vividly. Some quaint little cottage or a long-term room at an inn. The salt of the sea in each breath. A hot meal each night. No wounds, no war, no beasts and hecklers. An idyllic life he had never once let himself dream of - Not until Jaskier. And in some way, Yennefer. But that imagined life had never been peaceful - It had been the same, just with her at his side. The two of them on this endless Path. 

No. With Jaskier it had been...Finding peace. Resting. Embracing the safety and comfort of a normal life, at least for a short while. Jaskier playing songs by the fireplace, Geralt only ever swinging a blade to chop more firewood or cull their supper. 

He snarled, rolled his bedding and put Roach to the bridle. No. Destiny had shown him well and true that such a life was folly and fairy tale for him. 

He wondered if that's where Jaskier had gone. To the coast. Wondered how the bard would live the rest of his life. Cursed and spat at himself for yet again allowing his thoughts to stray. He did not bother to mount Roach, instead leading her along as he walked. The forest from one end to the other ran for almost two weeks, if one was ambling along. Geralt had aim to make it in ten days. 

As the sun began to set, Geralt chose a spot along the stream and settled, built a fire and made sure Roach was rubbed down before he set off, intent on some real food. It was near dark by the time he returned, a small fish and a squirrel the bounty of his efforts. The cold had driven much of the wildlife to their dens and nests; food would likely be scarce until he broke into Brugga. 

It was a bit of a tasked journey, but worth it to avoid villages he knew would sooner stab him than let him pass; kingdoms rife with unrest and the open miles of road where bandits and thieves lay in wait. Yaruga might be dense and dark and quiet, but there was little chance of running into anyone here. It's packed trees made hunting difficult, riding more so, and the lack of game often drove away anyone who had a mind to lay in wait for a victim. 

Meats prepared and roasting on sticks above the open flames, Geralt settled under his cloak, watching the embers dance. He was aware that for the last hour or so, he had been trailed by careful eyes. Whatever had spied him all those days ago and given chase was persistent; patient. He hummed thoughtfully, trying to scent the air, but the flora and flames and meat overwhelmed any faint hints the breeze might carry. 

He needn't have bothered, though. As he reached to turn the squirrel, he caught a shift of movement in the trees directly opposite. He was mindful not to stare, turning the darkening flesh slowly. Another rustle in the bushes. When he finally looked up, Witcher eyes keen in the dark, he set his gaze upon his shadow. 

All concerns about being hunted dissipated. So much so he almost laughed at his earlier caution. What lurked on the edge of his camp was no more than a runt - Small and slight. When it paced, he could see the delicateness of its outline. It was a small thing, by the height of its eyes. A scavenger, not a hunter. It had likely been feasting on the scraps of his hunts, following in the hopes of more. 

It was barely a threat to him. And only a fraction more of a threat to Roach. He had once seen her kick a chicken and cleave it near in half after the mindless beast had pecked once too many at her heels. Geralt wagered a well landed hoof to this sorry specimen would turn it into Geralt's supper. 

"Damned beast" he muttered, cursed it for his lack of sleep. The runt froze, alarmed by the sound, and it's form disappeared off into the cold, inky night. Geralt ate his fill and found himself piling the scraps at the edge of camp, instead of tossing them into the trees as he had before. The beast would likely follow him through until forest became field and path; and the scraps were not to his liking regardless. 

He settled into his bedroll, facing the fire and close enough that it's dying flames toasted the fronts of his arms and his chest. As he watched them dance, another flicker caught his eye. "Stubborn little shit" he murmured, and eyes like azure glinted in the darkness. He ignored it, reassured by the dagger at his hip, and closed his eyes. 

He was right. 

As day became dusk and he made camp once more, a harsh whicker from Roach drew his attention. He paid it no heed at first; the mare wasn't renowned for her patience and something as simple as a leaf against her leg could provoke a dramatic outburst of noise. If not for the flicker of scent on the wind, he wouldn't have turned at all. 

There, a good distance away but close enough to watch them between pacing, was the wolf. 

In the vague light of day, it's painful thinness was even more abundantly clear. It's stomach tucked upwards and it's legs were slim, ungainly and attached to a slender body. It was starving, small. Could be no older than a year, for it was about the size of a bear dog. Geralt watched it for several moments. He had no doubt the runt was tailing him for scraps now - A creature that fragile wouldn't try it's luck on game more than four times it's size, no matter the hunger pains. 

"Hmm" he mused aloud, tightening the strap on his saddle packs. The beast continued to pace and hide, always watching him as he was watching it. But it came no closer, and as he made off to hunt, it disappeared entirely. He kept an ear out as he walked, but no footfalls followed. The hunt was long and tedious, and he had only a small bird and some small, wild mushrooms to show for it. If the beast was lingering for scraps, they would both go hungry tonight. 

He plucked the bird and stowed it's feathers with the pigeons, before setting it to roast. A water can served to roast the mushrooms, and Geralt reclined back on his bedroll, basking in the warmth of the fire. The temperature was bitter and biting, and he'd made sure Roach was coated in layers. 

Not long after the flames were sending plumes of white smoke into the air, the bushes rustled across the small cleared space, and a set of eyes blinked owlishly at him through the embers. 

"Fuck off, beast. This bird won't even feed me" Geralt growled at it, though he made no warning advance. He almost pitied the thing; in all honesty. If it had been abandoned by it's mother so young, it likely had no hunting skills and was surviving off the scraps of other hunts. 

The wolf gave a soft huff, and it's eyes dropped as it lay on the outskirts of his camp. Geralt took a moment to notice the blue sheen, and swallowed down the urge to relate it to Jaskier. Soft, brown hair and bright, expressive blue eyes. Jaskier would love that - Being compared to a wolf. He'd probably spin it into a tale, two wolves travelling the world. 

The night grew darker and the air grew colder, and it took Geralt longer than he'd care to admit to notice the beast had begun to inch closer. Closer until it's face was just barely illuminated by the glow of the fire. Geralt had long ago finished his meal, and what he couldn't eat had been tossed aside. The wolf hadn't moved for it though, and Geralt watched it silently. 

The wolf gave another deep sigh and rolled it's body slightly, until the jut of its ribs were bathed in firelight. Geralt blinked. 

It was warming itself. 

"Freeloader" he announced to it, and the beast flicked an ear, eyes open and wary, but did not move. Geralt gave another low hum, and settled for the night, watching the beast turn itself this way and that until his eyes fell closed and he let himself sink into a slumber. 

By morning, the wolf pup was gone again. Geralt's water can had been licked clean of mushroom juices, and the grass opposite the fire was flattened where the beast had lay through the night. He packed most of the camp and made for the stream, bringing Roach so she could drink and so he could wash her hooves of muck. 

When she was watered, cleaned and grazing under a tree, he stripped his clothing and waded into the icy water, sinking into the cool, crisp liquid to rinse himself of the worst of the grime and dust. He rose, pushing his wet hair from his face, and paused. On the bank of the stream opposite, was the wolf. 

"I'm not your mother. Fuck off. I just got rid of one shadow" he snarled, and the beasts ears flicked. It bore it's teeth back at him, then spun on small paws and disappeared off between the vegetation. Geralt heaved a sigh and turned, finding Roach eyeing him. 

"Don't you start" he warned her, and sank back into the water. He thought that was the end of it - That the pup had moved along and tired of such little rewards, but when Geralt stoked the fire that night, the pup returned, languishing on the outskirts of its warmth. Despite himself, he huffed a small laugh. 

"You're as foolish as you are bold. I could just eat you and use your pelt for bedding" he informed it. Though even as he spoke, he knew he wouldn't. The scrawny thing would hardly offer a bountiful feast, and he was...Oddly fond of it. Or perhaps not _fond,_ but something enough that he had no immediate interest in skewering it. 

He told himself that it had nothing to do with Jaskier, and everything to do with his character growth. 

"Don't touch Roach and don't steal my food, and you can follow as you please" he decided. The pup seemed to have no interest in him beyond the warmth of his fire and the scraps of his hunts, and that was fine enough by Geralt. The pup was always gone by morning, and caused him no delay. 

Except this time, the pup was not gone by morning. It was not as close, but it skulked around several paces from him, following but maintaining a distance. It was not the most graceful of beings, and Geralt watched it stumble over roots and snap it's teeth at thorn bushes. 

"Why do I aquire company against my will?" Geralt sighed, fingers twisting in Roach's mane as he looked about the close-knit forest. Listened to the wolf pup stagger around on the edge of his presence. The forest hit a smooth plateau where the trees spaced further apart and he nudged his mare into a paced trot, eager to reach the welcome of Dillengen. 

He had mind for a real bed and for real food - And for once he had the coin to fulfil such fantasies. Perhaps even, if he succeeded in this contract, he might even visit a brothel. He could get sex enough without coin, but the whores were usually more open to his varied tastes and did not expect conversation or fancy from his visits. 

A whelp and a splash brought his mind back to the present, and he reined Roach to a halt. Twisting atop the saddle he turned, acute eyes scanning the forest until he spotted the pup, there in the distance, dragging itself up the gentle slope of the stream's bank. Geralt heaved a sigh and spurred Roach on again. The follies of beasts were not his concern. 

Or, seemingly, not his concern until he made camp, and the pup came cowering back to his fireside, shivering in the brisk night air, fur matted into clumps where the cold had dried it stiff. The beast skulked around the edge of the camp as he stoked the fire, building it from stiff kindling to a small bed of flames and glowing embers. He didn’t want too large a fire - For if the night winds came back, there was a high chance they would carry sparks and ignite the forest. 

“Perhaps that’ll teach you to watch where your paws lead you” Geralt offered it, head tilting as the pup side-eyed him from afar. It shuddered, teeth chattering here and there as it seemed to battle the decision to linger, to step closer to the flame’s warmths. “You’re not getting scraps tonight” he added warningly. All he had left were a few dried meat strips, and he would need his energy if he was going to be fighting anything. 

The pup whuffed at him, and stayed resolutely where it was as Geralt warmed his fingertips near the flames and ate his own scraps. It was only when he had tucked himself into his bedroll and had settled, staring up at the stars that he heard the distinct sound of paws advancing. 

One step. Two. Geralt let his head loll, watching as the beast settled where the light of the fire was nought but a weak glow. Round, ocean-like eyes fixed on him before flitting away, lit gold by the fire as the beast watched it dance in the night. Geralt gave a low _hmm_ and looked back to the stars. Not long after his gaze averted, the pup shuffled, inching closer and closer until it lolled before the flames with a low sound of satisfaction. 

“I’ve a...Well. I _had_ a friend like you. Would roll so close to the flames he’d singe his cheeks”. To say nothing of the nights Geralt had stayed up, watching and alert, because Jaskier was like to roll straight into it and roast himself like a ham. The pup let its eyes roll across to him, watching in a way that made Geralt feel...Quite as though the beast could see through him. 

“Sleep. Perhaps in the morning I can find more than a pigeon, and you can eat more than scraps”. 

Gods, but Jaskier had turned him soft. Talking to wildlife; staking to hunt bigger game to provide for some scavenging little runt. It was exactly the sort of thing Jaskier would relentlessly hound him to do, wailing about the patheticness of the beast and how they absolutely _must_ help it. 

Geralt scowled to the stars, and closed his eyes. 

At morning, the beast was lurking along the edge of camp, as though waiting for him to awake. Roach had grown accustomed to its presence and paid it no heed, grazing the final blades of grass around her heels. She whickered at him as he roused with a grunt, blinking into the cool morning sun. 

Getting closer to the town meant the density of the trees expanded, and that the game became larger. Geralt could scent the very faint herd of deer in the distance. Could see the tracks of a wild boar, when he nudged Roach off the trail he’d been following. But try as he might - and he did - He could find no trace of wolves. No paw prints, no bones or hunt scraps. No scent. No hide nor hair nor fang. As if the pup had simply...Been dropped here by the wind. 

Geralt watched it swaggering about in their vicinity, always out of reach, but close enough to follow, to keep Geralt in sight as much as the Witcher found himself keeping an eye out for the pup. It felt rather like travelling with Jaskier - Always keeping watch of him, always prepared to leap into action. 

The pup was leggy, would be slender if not for being so painfully thin. Despite lacking in nourishment, its coat was thick, bordering on fluffy, if not for the lack of grooming. Now it stuck up in odd, dirty clumps, the beast no cleaner for its impromptu swim the day past. It had a delicate, shapely face, large eyes and large ears. 

It moved with a sway of its hips, constantly looking over its shoulder as though to check that he was still watching, a prance in its step no matter how many times its legs tangled in a knot. As though despite its misfortune, it had no care in the world. _Plucky,_ Geralt thought idly. As he had once cursed Jaskier for being. 

Of course, by this point, Jaskier would have named the thing and would have wrestled it under his arm, smiling through the bites and insisting that a complimentary _real_ wolf would only add to their ‘sellable appeal’. Would do doubt try to wrangle the beast into some hideous garb, would try to train it to howl to the tune of his lute. 

"I'll not be naming you" he warned it as they trekked through the forest, and the pup paid him no heed at all, chasing bugs through the air. Geralt supposed that was part of both it's survival and it's personality. Though that was where the wolf and the bard differed. Jaskier had gagged and yowled when Geralt had scavenged a bowl of bugs for their supper during a cold, bare winter once before. 

When the signs of deer grew stronger, he dismounted Roach and hobbled her to a tree, taking both a dagger and his small bow with him as he followed the trail. The pup he abandoned near a bush, creeping off when it was vested in digging through the dirt. 

The hunt took him a long time - Almost enough that he deemed the reward not worth the effort. The deer were small beasts, flighty and quick, and they knew the forest far better than he. Geralt wagered it took almost three hours for his efforts to yield, his arrow loosing true in the heart of a doe. She fell fast and heavy, struck dead immediately, and he cast a small blessing. He disliked animals suffering, even if they were dying at his blade. 

She wasn't fat, but she was well grazed and sturdy as he slung her over his shoulders, mindful of where the wound leaked sluggishly as he followed his own trail back to Roach. Where they had stopped was suitable enough to make a small camp - Sheltered by shrubbery and low tree branches. 

The ground was uneven but made good for a fire pit, and Geralt stoked a roaring flame before he turned. He'd almost forgotten about the pup, for it had been quiet and out of the way since he returned, but he spotted it under the shelter of a bush, head on its paws, eyes listless and little body rocking with breaths.

"Hmm" he mused, fingers stilling on his bounty. Of course - Lack of food lead to a lack of energy, starvation robbing your body of everything from balance to sight. With all its prancing, the pup must have worn itself dizzy. But it still made no move to scavenge his kill - No attempt to come closer than the outskirts of his fire warmth. 

Geralt butchered the deer efficiently, bleeding it into the largest bowl he had. The blood could be boiled into a soup, of sorts. It was not the most pleasant of meals, but it was rich in nutrients. After considering, he let the doe bleed into a smaller one, and carried it to the edge of the camp, far enough away that the pup would likely be tempted as he slept. 

When the meat was roasted and dripping with fat, Geralt took it from the fire, uttering a soft sound of approval as he chewed his first bite. Gamey and lean. A luxury to his cramping stomach. He looked up and found the pup had scrambled closer, shuddering body curled up nearer to the flames than it had ever dared to come before. 

"Here. Brains taste like shit anyway" Geralt grunted, picking up the severed head of his kill and pitching it in a careful throw. The pup flinched as it landed, and a wary gaze flicked between him and the bounty before the pup turned, crawling on shaking paws to the offering. 

Geralt had expected the pup to tear into it, to maul in its haste to fill it's belly, but the pup simply chewed and licked and gnawed as if it had all the time in the world, delicate about it's meal but clearly enjoying the spoils of Geralt's efforts. Jaskier would have cooed about Geralt's _kind nature_. 

Geralt ate and ate and stowed away what meat he hadn't, intending to dry it out come morning to add to his supply. The bloodied bones and the scraps he piled near the bowl of blood, and tucked himself into his bedroll, after adding two more logs to the fire. 

"Do not get used to this, pup. Tomorrow is my last day of travels, And then you are on your own once again" he warned it, closing his gleaming eyes on the glow of the fire and the stars. There came a soft, lonesome whine, and Geralt let sleep claim him. 

He awoke early in the morning, the sun finally breaking a little of the chill. With a groan he rolled over, eyeing the charred remains of the fire, and the little body that lay beyond it. The pup was not only still here - But sound asleep, curled tight around itself, little stomach distended and swollen from its feast. Bones lay about it, and the bowl was tipped over and licked clean. 

"Perhaps now you might have the strength to try hunting for yourself" he murmured to it, and allowed himself a short while of simply watching, before he forced himself to get up. He emptied his bladder and bowels in the woods and came back, the pup only rousing when Geralt begun to pack his things. 

The scrawny beast yawned, wide and showcasing tiny, pointed teeth, before it stretched and wobbled to it's feet, blinking about the camp until it's azure eyes found him. The pup seemed to startle at itself, gaze roaming around the camp as though it had only just realised it was still there. 

“My friend never liked early mornings either” he told it, startling himself with his aptitude for talking to the beast, and for talking about Jaskier as though the mere thought of the man didn’t leave an acrid, guilty taste in his mouth. The pup stretched again, ears flicking, and turned tail to him, swaying off into the shrubbery. 

But the runt was back by the time Geralt had tacked Roach, ambling along sleepily as Geralt led her towards the sensory direction of people. Despite himself, Geralt found his usual steady pace slowing - Though he told himself it was to enjoy the last of the nature before he was accosted by the rancid hoards of men. 

The break in the treeline came almost too soon, and Geralt was several strides passed it when the stopped, head tilting. He turned, ears and eyes following the soft, barely audible whimpers that came from the depths of the forests. The pup paced, ears flat and head low, but did not attempt to follow him.

“You have _some_ smarts, then” Geralt murmured, and turned away. 

Dillengen greeted him warmly - Though only for the sake of what plagued them. Geralt roped Roach’s reins around a fence and sent a hearty glare to anyone who might have mind to rifle through her packs. Not that he necessarily needed to - Roach had taken care of many a thief by herself. The innkeep eyed him warily when he entered, but poured him an ale and told him which direction he might find the house of the elderman. 

“Terrible sounds, all through the night. Like crying, but harsher. Any watchmen in the night...They don’t come back”. It took less than fifteen minutes of talking to the withered, frail old man for Geralt to deduce it was not a cenetaur, but a simple nightwraith. Scorned dead were an easy enough task, and the elderman offered him a substantial reward for such a small city and job. 

“You’ve three nights, if you speak true of when it comes. Bring us proof of its death and our salvation, and you shall be paid, by my honest word”. 

Geralt disliked taking ‘honest words’, but he grunted in affirmation and moved along. Wraiths of most kinds were easy enough to dispatch - They had no venom nor spells to watch for. He chose to return to the inn, in need of a hot meal and a bed. Deer had lined his stomach, but fighting was tiresome and would require nourishment. 

It took him through to the second night to defeat the creature, meditating and sleeping through the day in order to have the energy for the nights. He did not best not to let his thoughts wander - Focused on the task at hand, but he found his thoughts straying to eyes like cornflowers and floppy, dusty ears. To sweet voices and soft, lonesome howls he fancied he could hear on the wind in the night. 

His silver sword did the trick, after a gruelling battle throughout the night with the creature. It dissolved into a cloud of wispy, grey dust that he gathered in a small glass vial, and stalked back to Dillengen’s centre. True to his word, the elderman paid, inspecting the vial thoroughly but without prejudice before handing Geralt a pouch. At the Witcher’s steady gaze, the old man gave a smile. 

“My fellow, I cannot demand a service of you whilst demeaning and dehumanising you for it. What would that make me? We cannot ask for salvation from these beasts, then condemn it when it arrives. Go now - Get some solid rest and good food. I should quite like to experiment with this dust”. 

“Don’t mix it with lunar essence” he warned as he turned, pocket heavy with coin. The elderman chuffed at him cheerfully, and begun the long task of striding across his workshop. Geralt closed the door behind him and was intent on following the old man’s advice when the sounds reached his ears. 

Men, jeering and shouting. And...Snarling. Pitiful yapping. The feral sounds of a beast being provoked. But not just any beast. Geralt turned sharply, strides lengthening as he made his way towards the origin. It didn’t take him long to find it, rounding a corner near the entrance to the city to find a group of men, crowded near an indent of fencing, where the beast they had cornered snapped and yowled pitifully against the prodding of their sticks and the toes of their boots. 

He knew that scent. Catching a glimpse of muddy fur, Geralt was striding forwards before he even had half an inkling of his own actions, grasping the nearest man by the back of the neck and throwing him backwards with such force he went sliding through the dirt like he was being dragged. The jeers died into confused shouts and Geralt rounded on the next man, rocking his jaw with a barely restrained blow. 

“Hey! What’s your problem, _freak_?!” A man shouted from behind, his words stilling when sharp steel came to lay at his throat. 

“Hoi! What seems to be the unease here, gentleman?” Came from across the way, and Geralt turned, watching the broad man advancing. He looked to be a man of hard work, hands held up placantly as Geralt dangled two men in his grip. The pup whimpered at his heels, too weak to put up any fight, nor run. 

“They were beating a defenceless animal” he snarled, gaze averting quickly to scan the flopped over pup. It was curled over itself, teeth bared and ears flat, gaze darting frantically. The men at his side begun immediate protests. 

“What, is the beast yours?” The man asked, brow raising, and Geralt’s treacherous mouth was opening before he bid it permission. 

“ _Yes_ ” he growled, and the man looked surprised, to say the least of those who’d been assaulting the helpless animal. They fell still, faces going ashen as they realised they had, quite well, gotten on the wrong side of the freak capable of popping their skulls like a ripe grape. None of them, however, were quite as surprised as himself, but it was too late to take back his words. 

“Tis nothing but some runt, come in from Yaruga. Would’a mauled some child or something!” The man with steel at his neck tried, and Geralt pressed it a little closer, enough for the man to feel the bite of its blade. The male who’d approached them lifted his hands higher, head tilting with a pleading expression. 

“More of this folly, and the guards will come, and we shall find ourselves all in a cell. If the Witcher says the beast belongs to him - Let him have it. If it is truly a runt, as you say, a wild thing wandered in search of food, it has no value to you”. 

“He’s got a fucking _blade_ to my throat, Chrystian! You _can-_ ” 

“Let him have it, Johan. He’s a damned sight stronger than all of us, and you’re useless with a sword. Bide your ego, you damned fool, and the next time your anger lands you in shit I shall skewer you myself!”. 

Geralt’s brows lifted in surprise, hands almost lowering at the sheer audacity of the situation. Seconds passed full of scowls and muttered words, but the men took steps backwards, hands lifting in a display of surrender. Geralt swore under his breath and turned, snatching up the pup by the scruff. And holding it, he was reminded it was hardly a pup. 

The size of a hunting dog, at least, though scrawny and harshly malnourished. The beast gave a great yowl in his grip, writhing and thrashing, teeth snapping at his grip. Geralt leaned back with a vaguely surprised and thoroughly unimpressed expression. This was the most action he had seen from the creature since their meeting. 

It howled and snarled and growled, and he tightened his grip, shaking it so that its head rattled about like a children’s toy. 

“A... _Lively_ pet, no doubt. I could recommend a good kennel master” the man - Chrystian, offered as Geralt looked up at him, expression grim and quite done with the day. 

“Hmm” was all Geralt responded with, scowling as he sheathed his sword with his free hand and took stride towards Roach, the runt still thrashing in his grip like it was being burned. Several paces away he shook it again, free hand closing tight around its muzzle. 

The beast stopped thrashing, the growls muted to low vibrations in its chest, eyes wild as they stared at each other in the quiet street. 

“I suppose I ought to name you, _pet_ ” Geralt huffed at it, and the beast took a swipe at his face with a paw. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did _not_ expect that much of a reaction within literal hours of posting this! You guys are amazing, honestly. I'm a big dummy and I've started this in the midst of 4 major assignments and about 32 other works across here and tumblr, but my inspiration for this is flowing like a river and I will do my best to make updates timely! As always, I'm taking great liberty with the locations, timelines ect and am basically just...Winging this. I'm gonna kind of warp the story and say that Geralt never claimed the Law of Surprise here - Just to ease the flow of this story. Fear not! Ciri likely still exists in this splinterverse and is probably well on her way to being Queen. 
> 
> Which also means the Nifgaard war was...Idk. Mashed not long after Cintra fell? I probably won't go into too much detail with it, but basically this splinterverse is mostly peaceful so I can focus on the main plot without this going from 30,000 to 100,000+. Ya girl has to sleep at some point. 
> 
> I would also like to note there is a distinct lack of Joey/Henry fics and if any of you feel like fixing that...I wouldn't be mad.

Geralt was slapped at and nipped at no less than 20 times as he held the beast at arms length, forgoing his immediate desire for a hot meal, and hotter bath, and a warm bed for stalking angrily past the city gates. It would be a troublesome effort to try and tack Roach whilst gripping the pup, which thrashed and writhed in his grip like a snake, so he made the journey on foot. It took him no less than an hour of walking to reach the forest, his strides long and his scowl dark. The pup's struggles lessened but did not fully abate as they made their way across trails and fields, towards the towering line of trees in the distance. 

Tired, dirty and strained from his armour, Geralt stomped a good distance into the trees and tossed the wolf on a well pitched arm, watching it go sprawling into the dirt where it flopped and rolled several feet. It came to a stop, thoroughly dazed and making no attempt to stand for the immediate moment. Geralt wiped the grime off his hands and scowled at it, before pointing to the woodland. " _This_ is where you belong. Those men would've kicked you to death and used your pelt to warm their arses in bed" he snarled at it, and his voice seemed to stop the ringing of the pup's head, because it thrashed to its feet and came at him, ears pinned and teeth bared. 

Geralt was both impressed by the balls on this thing, and concerned for the sheer stupidity of it. Hunger and weakness made the pup unstable and slow, and Geralt swept its paws from under it, following it down into the dirt and using his knee and hands to pin it - Overcareful of its delicate bones and their weight and strength differences. The beast yowled, before resorting to a steady stream of low, wavering growls. "You are, without a doubt, the second most stupid being that has decided to make a companion of me" Geralt informed it, fingers soothing through the tacky fur at the side of its head, careful not to let his fingers get in the way of those white little teeth. 

The beast's frantic twisting died to futile squirming, its eyes wild and rolling as it tried to look at him, paws scratching lines in the dirt. Geralt ran his thumb along the soft edge of an ear, and heaved a sigh. "I should have just left you starve. You wouldn't have tried to follow me then". And wasn't that just him? Always trying to do the right thing, but fucking it up in the end. Making things worse. If he had simply chased off the beast - Or better, perhaps put it out of its misery, since the creature had no skills to feed itself and would now, no doubt, seek out humans as a source of food. 

"Most people are selfish and cruel, beastie. They would sooner eat you than offer you something to eat. You're like me, to them. A predator. A thing to kill before you kill them. There are so few out there that are different. I knew one, before. He'd have made me hunt all night just to ensure we had enough for you, too". 

The wolf still growled, but it was low and there was little effort behind it. It had mostly stopped fighting, seemingly having accepted that Geralt was the more likely winner of this fight. Up close, Geralt could see the shade of its eyes, so deep blue and so familiar it made Geralt's heart clench for a moment. He shifted, easing a little of his weight off the creature, but the fight had left it. One good meal was not enough to combat possible months of starvation. He heaved another sigh and withdrew quickly and completely, sitting opposite the wolf as it sucked in breaths. It did not try to rise. 

This close and with a quick glance, Geralt could see fully it was a male. 

"That explains the pig-headedness" Geralt decided, using a term that Jaskier had often tossed valiantly in his direction. The wolf heaved a breath and lay still in the dirt, defeated. It was then that Geralt remembered it had likely taken several heels to the body before he had interrupted, and that his weight had likely aggravated any damage. He wanted to leave well alone - To get back now when the pup was too tired to immediately follow. But he tightened his armour and moved closer, growling warningly when the pup kicked a leg at him. 

"Bite me, and I'll use your teeth for a necklace" he advised it, pinning its head once more as he felt gingerly about its body for injuries. It gave a weak whelp when he prodded its ribs and stomach, but the pain seemed minimal and he could smell no blood. The likelihood of internal injury was slim - The beast was tougher than it looked. Geralt let it go again, satisfied that it wasn't suffering too much, and sat back to try and decide what to do. His instinct told him to just leave. That whatever happened was not his concern. He was kind to wildlife, but he was not soft like young children or sensitive maidens. 

Perhaps, more accurately, he should consider what someone else would do. A hunter or any other man would cut the beast from throat to belly and be done with it. Eat what little meat was to be had (though many disliked eating wolves for their chewy texture and rich taste) and use the pelt for clothing or bedding. 

Unbidden, his mind went to Jaskier. Of what Jaskier would do. Though that was equally as ridiculous as the other options. Jaskier would insist upon keeping the beast. Would campaign for its right to live - For the life of protection people like them - Like him, for he was alone now - Could offer. 

Geralt heaved a sigh. 

"Damnit, Jaskier". 

Geralt moved forwards and gripped the beast by the scruff, where it snarled at him but made no effort to lunge. He considered the strain this might have on the beast, large as it was, and changed tactic. Before the pup could bite him, he wrapped his hand around its muzzle, tight and firm, and slid an arm under it. He curled it close so it had minimal room to squirm, and heaved to his feet, adjusting his grip until he was satisfied that the beast would not cause trouble. And then...Back the way that he came. 

Gods. He was skewed in the head. And how Jaskier would crow with glee. 

To say nothing of what Yennefer would think. But he did not wish to think of her. Not now. Not of her false affections and of his own. They both deserved better - Both deserved the lives that they truly wanted. And how different those lives and those desires were. 

The pup fell limp in his grasp near halfway home, the fight truly and thoroughly gone from him after the ordeal of it all. Geralt garnered several looks when he re-entered the city, people steering clear of him not least because of what he was. The pup growled and snarled and glared, but lay still in his arms as he carried it, following signs and scents until he found what he was seeking. The shop bell tinkled as he shouldered his way in, and he watched the physical death of the smith's greeting on his tongue. 

"What in the name of the Gods-"

"I require two harnesses. I've the coin for it. Specific design, sturdy leather, good metal. Nothing this beast can chew through" Geralt grunted, dumping the pup atop a wooden workbench, hand immediately moving to hold it down as it writhed and yipped. The man looked to be thoroughly at a loss for words, hands flailing as he looked from beast to beast, mouth gaping. Geralt waited patiently. The promise of good coin was often enough to drive a man to do even the most absurd of things. 

"I - My good...Sir. This is no dog you've brought to me" the man finally managed, gesturing to the pup, which managed to lift its head enough to glare balefully at the man. Geralt pushed it's head back down with a scowl, reaching for his pocket with his free hand to find and open his coin purse, tossing four gold crown atop the counter. More than enough for the good work of a leather-smith. This man would be responsible for the leather work throughout the city - For saddles and harnesses. For cow leads and for dog apparel. Geralt trust the man had the capability for a simple headcollar and chest harness. Something he could use to keep the wolf at his side, whilst he figured out what to do with it. 

"Good. Your eyes work" Geralt responded, digging his thumb into the hinge of the wolf's jaw when it made to get up. The man jerked away, a hand lifting, before approaching, seemingly having faith in Geralt's ability to hold it down. He leaned closer, observing the beast that eyed him warily, ears pinned and eyes narrowed. Geralt gave a low, warning sound at it, glancing across at the man with a raised brow. He seemed not to have taken offence to the remark, more in marvel at the beast Geralt had brought to him.

"An interesting choice in pet, my good chap" the man announced after a pause, and Geralt gave another low _hmm_. 

"I've heard that before" Geralt muttered, and motioned to the wolf. 

"A strap, for his face. And a chest harness, like a sniffer hound. Good leather. Good metal. I want it to fit right. Nothing he can slip from, nothing he can chew out of" Geralt remarked, and the man lifted a brow, taking off his hat to rub at his temple with a deep sigh. It seemed that this was perhaps the oddest request that the man had ever been faced with - And a challenge to his capability as a smithy. 

"He maul your sheep or something? Or are you looking for an aid to your...Business?" 

"Saving him a boot to the hide. Can you do it or not?" Geralt asked, and the man lifted his shoulders, hand moving to his jaw as they stood, staring at the wolf. It somehow seemed even more pitiful on the bench, even more fragile and scrawny. No less with Geralt's hand atop it, holding it down with such ease. The man seemed to think for a short while, enough that Geralt's patience begun to wear thin, before the man nodded. 

"I can well give it a go. Especially for a price such as that. Hold him steady now. I shall add to the fee if he catches me with those teeth". 

Once the beast was measured, Geralt had to figure out what to do with it whilst he waited for the harnesses to be made. The smithy had asked for the day, to cut the leather and to stitch it, to work the buckles. Geralt could return in the morning to claim his wares - But that meant that he would need to find somewhere to put the wolf for the night. He considered taking it back to the forest, but he could not trust it would not try to follow him back. Nor that it would run off in the night and waste his coin, even if he stayed with it. Geralt stood in the middle of the town, wolf clutched to his chest, lost as for what to do. 

Grumbling, Geralt turned back to the smithy shop. 

A crown later, he left with a pre-made harness, cheaper quality and a little slack, but nothing the beast would be able to free itself of. It had taken both of them to wrangle the snapping, snarling pup into the harness, and when done it had simply stood there, stiff and growling, legs out as though the harness pushed them so. It had not bitten either of them though, for all its bravado, and Geralt found lifting it by the straps of sturdy leather was far easier than coddling it like a babe, or scruffing it like a true pup. 

Now, he dragged it along behind him as it yowled and fretted, chewing at the chain Geralt had purchased to act as a lead the beast could not break free from. That was not to say that it didn't try, teeth scraping and clacking against the metal, paws digging into the dirt as he hauled it through the streets and back towards the inn. He could only hope the innkeep was not only had a stall free, but was willing to accept his coin for it in return for a space to tie the beast where it would be safest. Nobody would try to savage it with him so close. 

"You're more expensive than Jaskier ever was. I ought to have left you die in that forest" he informed it as he hauled on the chain, dragging the beast close enough so that he could hoist it up, under his arm. He had come to note that for all its teeth baring and fighting, it had actually done little in the way of mauling him. It would close those sharp little teeth over his arm, sometimes enough to prick a little blood, but it would never try to tear or shake its head. As though it was merely hoping all its bravado and threats would be enough. 

Even now, it nipped at his arms, gentle scraps of its teeth, but it wiggled more than it bit as Geralt shouldered into the inn, mindful of the fact that for once, he himself was less of what people were staring at and judging. For once. Though Jaskier and Yennefer had both drawn their own fair share of judgement at his side. Jaskier arguably the most - For all his flamboyancy and his general lack of fear when it came to...Well. To Geralt, mostly. He remembered when the bard had been merely eighteen, springy and bold, when he had stalked straight up to Geralt with a thinly veiled notion of his interest and the stubborn ideal of being at his side. 

"What in the name of the Lords are you doing with that beast?" The innkeep greeted once Geralt had stalked up to the bar, squeezing the beast a little when it bore its teeth at the man. It had resorted mostly to hanging limp in his grasp, accepting of its fate. Geralt felt rather like the rich ladies down South, with their decorated bags and shawls and their tiny, fluffy, well-bred dogs under their arms. 

"It seems Destiny is not content to leave me travel in peace" Geralt grunted, and slid a gold crown onto the bar. His purse from this contract was fast disappearing, and he had little to show for it but a mangy, filthy wild thing. "I've need of a stall. Preferably on the end, not near any other beast. He'll not chew anything -" Geralt paused. "- _If_ he chews anything, I've coin to repair it. He's more bark than bite". The wolf curled its muzzle over its canines, scowling across at the innkeep, who looked fit to deny Geralt's request. 

"If he remains safe in a stall, unbothered by your staff or the patrons, there's another gold crown awaiting you on my departure". That would amount to two hundred coppers. More than an innkeep would see in a few months of business, and all for mere horse stall. He could see the cogs spinning behind the man's eyes, and he snatched the coin from the bar top before either could change their mind, snapping his fingers loudly 

A boy came scurrying from the kitchens, cheeks rosy from the heat of the fires. "Papa?" 

"Move the bay from the end stall, and any other horse close to it. This man has paid good money for the privacy of his beast". 

The boy's curious eyes found the wolf, and they went round like soup bowls, mouth dropping open. He stood staring long enough that the innkeep shoved him by the shoulder and sent him stumbling off. "Be gone with you! I'll not have it lingering in here longer than I must". He turned to Geralt, eyes stern in a gaze that would've worked on the boy, but served to do nothing for a hardened Witcher. "That beast of yours does any damage to a man or his horse...I'll not be intervening from a fit punishment" he warned, and Geralt looked down at the pup, which licked at its jaw slowly, as though contemplating the merits of eating the man. 

Geralt would've liked to see the runt try. 

"He causes me more trouble than he has, I'll skin him myself" he grunted, and turned for the stables. 

It was a small mercy that each stall had several rings attached within, for the tying of horses, and that he'd bought chain enough that he could ensure the beast would be set without strangling itself. It lunged for him when he set it down, but he swat it aside like a fly, threading the chain through and tying it best he was able, before skewering the links with a dagger. He pulled it this way and that, but it held, and he looked down at the beast as it backed into a corner. Certainly not the _smartest_ predator. 

"If we ever come across that bard again, you've like to bow at his feet and lick his boots" Geralt advised the beast. If not for the bard, Geralt would have made a blanket out of this beast long ago. 

The wolf did nothing but stare at him, poised as though to flee, but seemingly knowing when it was bested. Geralt watched it for a long while, studying the quivering runt, when its gaze lifted to over his shoulder, fixing there intensely. The rabbiting thump of a heartbeat filled Geralt's ears, and he turned to find a young girl, perhaps no older than seven, peeking around the stall door, her eyes wider than the boy's had been, reeking of adrenaline, fear and the tangy scent of curiosity. 

Geralt gave a grunt, and sank into the straw, aware of the way the wolf shuffled closer, as though the girl was to be feared more than him. 

"Is that your dog? Can I pet him?" She asked in a raspy whisper, and Geralt begun to pull at his armour, wanting it off so that he might relax. 

"He's no dog, girl. Pet him and you're like to lose a finger" he advised, head shaking. Whilst the beast seemed to tolerate Geralt based on a relationship founded on his provision of food, but a small girl who was like to fret or squeal...He'd rather not risk it. Especially not after just paying good money to board the beast, and more or less promising that the beast would behave. And men were more likely to cause trouble over a mauled child than they were a horse, easily replaceable, if not a nuisance. 

"What's his name?" 

That made Geralt pause. He'd been referring to the wolf by a number of nouns and monikers, but had not deigned to refer to it as anything but mere...Descriptors. 

"He doesn't have one" he responded gruffly, using his teeth to loosen a strap. He cast the wolf a glance, and found it huddled in the straw, ears flat but no teeth bared. It was likely it had not eaten at all these past three days, and it was some small mercy. For him, anyway. A beast too weak from hunger was a beast not like to put up much of a fight. And Geralt was sturdier and quicker than the common opponent - He was also between the wolf and the girl. After a moment, he grasped the trailing chain, and sat on it, just to be additionally sure. He had want of a hot meal and a bath tonight, and he would not get those if he had to fight his way out of a city. 

"If he's yours to keep, you gotta name him" the girl reasoned, creeping further out from behind the door, gaze fixed on the wolf. Geralt was forced to pause again. He hadn't wholly intended on keeping the beast. Not truly. He'd a half-formed plan to find a well stocked forest, something easier to hunt in, and to dump the wolf there. At least it would stand more of a chance than in the difficult Yaruga lands. Geralt could say he had done the best to give it a fighting chance; and he could be on his peaceful way, with no guilt. But he could not well say this to a child, not a child that would not wholly understand the situation. 

"I...You give him a name, then" he settled on stiffly, letting his vambrace fall to the straw. He had only ever named his horses. And that was vastly only because it was easier. Before Roach there had been Worm. Before Worm, there had been Mosquito and Spider. Geralt wasn't sure quite why he named them all after creepies and crawlies, but he had. He supposed if it had been left to him, the wolf would likely have just been named...Wolf. Or perhaps even another type of bug. 

"Dandelion".

Oh. No. That would not do at all. He was not giving the beast some cushy, sweet, child-like name. He was not naming a wolf for a flower. 

"Pick something else" he grunted, lip curling as he worked on his other arm. The girl finally turned to him and pouted, brows furrowing and lower lip jutting out as the fixed him what would best be described as a scowl. 

"You said I could name him! I _did_. Dandelion!" She announced, little arms folding at him. When Geralt turned his head and glanced across at the wolf, he found no support. The beast had actually settled down in the straw, paws tucked up and head resting. It seemed the last of the beast's energy had failed it, little body rocking as it breathed, watching them as though one might watch the theatre. He scowled at it, and then heaved a sigh. 

"And so, you have a name" he informed it. The beast chuffed at him, teeth bared, but made no move. Geralt heaved a sigh and stood, gathering his armour and brushing past the girl, who he ushered backwards and bolted the stall door behind. "Leave him be. The day has been long" he advised her, carrying his armour with him as he made his way to the inn. She trotted off before they entered, no doubt back home to enthral her family with her tale, and Geralt went up to his room where he shed down to a shirt and loose pants, and ordered a bath. Once he was clean, he dressed in clean clothes and handed his dirty ones to the laundry maid. As she left, he caught her arm. 

"Where is this town's butcher? Or a farmer, willing to sell?" He asked, and she cast him a ludicrous glance, but paused for a moment's thought. 

"You'd do well to head to the west of the town. That's where most of our farming's done. The butcher is in the main market street. He closes on Sundays and half-day on a Wednesday, on account of his daughter". Geralt took a moment to recall it was a Tuesday, and he nodded, letting her go and turning away. It was only mid-day, or so, and he had time. So he shoved on his boots and a jacket, made sure that his coin purse was tied within a pocket, and made his way back out into the city. 

He went to the butcher first, browsing the cuts of meat available. Mutton, beef, chicken, pork. He catalogued it and made his way across the city, to the farming lands, where he found a whole chicken was considerably cheaper than a leg of mutton. It was perhaps less meat, but Geralt had spent enough on this beast with no reward for it, and so he purchased the chicken, cutting it clean with a blow that sent its head rolling across the field. Chicken feathers were not suitable for bedding, too spiny and sharp, so he let them fly free on the wind as he plucked it. When the beast was dead and naked and bled dry, he made his way back to the barn. 

He didn't bother to stay long, checking in on Roach and ensuring she was well fed and watered, before he leaned over the stall door of the wolf. Its trough had fresh water from the horse before, and it was nestled in the straw, though it looked up when he approached. "Here. I ought to name you Coin Leech" he grunted, and threw the chicken at it before he turned. He was long overdue a nap and a hot meal, not necessarily in that order. He received his meal first, hot stew rich with broth and vegetables and a loaf of bread, which he soaked in the meaty broth before eating. 

He made sure his room was secure and lay himself to bed, settling under the thin blankets and sinking almost immediately into sleep. He intended on sleeping the rest of the day away, the night too, and making his leave in the morning once he'd picked up his order from the leather-smith. But he found his sleep restless, haunted by eyes like the tidal waves at the coast. By a sweet, lilting voice that would talk him into a soothed sleep. He woke perhaps around eleven, or midnight, and growled in frustration. 

He would not return to sleep soon, so he rolled out of bed, dressed against the chill of the night and made out. The inn was empty, the innkeep in bed and only the night barmen stood there, half-sleep against a pillar. Geralt paid him no heed and continued out into the night, slipping into the barn with the quiet grace of a predator. The horses were all sound asleep bar one, an old heavy-puller with its muzzle streaked grey. The beast chewed hay and eyed him with disinterest as he passed. 

Roach was sound asleep when he passed her stall, sunk deep into the straw, lower lip drooping as she slumbered. He watched her for a moment, grateful that she was getting good rest, and then moved along. The stalls nearest the wolf were empty, and when he reached the beast it too was sound asleep. Its ears flopped down and it was curled in a ball so tight it had to be uncomfortable, paws tucked under its body for warmth, and it had burrowed down into the straw as though making a nest. The bones of the chicken lay scattered about it, gnawed clean. Its little stomach was distended in a pouch, fat and full, and despite himself it settled something within Geralt. 

The beast's muzzle twitched as it slept, ears flicking, and Geralt turned away. He'd ride west, find a forest ripe with game and far from villages, where the risk of the pup being hunted was slim. And then perhaps he would head North again, to the cold and the biting winds, where he belonged. Where Jaskier would, without a doubt, not be. Geralt tucked himself back into bed, forced himself to meditate until the meditation became sleep. It was restful, if filled with wolves and songbirds, and he awoke in the early morning sunshine, rested and ready to travel. 

He ate a heart breakfast, eggs and goat meat, thick bread and a bowl of broth left from the night before. Checked briefly on Roach and the wolf, both awake and eyeing him ruefully, like they knew this luxury was coming to an end, and then made his way to the leather-smith. The man looked almost amused to see him, and motioned him towards a workbench, where sleek, polished leather and new, gleaming buckles glinted in the light. It had been stained with squid ink, a dark, rich black. 

"I thought you might like the black. No charge for the ink. I take pride in making my work remarkable" the man noted, proud of his handiwork as Geralt trailed his fingertips over it slowly. It looked as though it would fit, and he noted additional leather and holes. "For if the beast puts some meat on" he added, following Geralt's gaze. Geralt gave a low hum, approving, and picked up the leather work, offering the man a nod as he made his leave. The beast was awake when he returned, albeit sleepy and not inclined to move much. 

"Bite me, and I shall make you into a saddle pad". It was a woeful threat, even he knew that, but the wolf still eyed him as though it not only understood, but was considering his words as he entered the stall. It had recently had a drink, muzzle wet and stomach still pokeable. It stood as he entered, looking largely unimpressed as he held the harnesses in plain view. "You're going to wear this until I find somewhere to dump you that satisfies my conscience" he informed it, sinking to a knee in the straw. 

He gripped at the beast, and so begun another round of its wild thrashing. It even succeeded it scrambling up, half over his shoulder in escape at one point, before he snatched the chain and hauled it back into the straw, settling over it as though he was pinning a calf for a nose ring. The wolf yowled and snarled like he was gutting it, but Geralt was mindful of its tender sides as he wrestled it, one leg after the other, into the sleek leather. It took him time to adjust the buckle, swatting at the pup each time it tried to claw its way out from beneath him. Eventually he sank back onto his haunches as the pup threw itself down, wriggling and snarling as it tried to break free. 

"Ungrateful cockroach" he grunted, scooping up the cast aside harness. It would come in handy for a spare, if nothing else. As he stood, he noted the dust and dirt that now caked his inner thighs, and scowled at the beast. Arguably, his next step was a bath. Geralt didn't mind a little grime and dirt, but if he was going to be hauling this creature around, it was at the least not going to shed a layer of mud all over him each time. He wrangled the beast under his arm again, shoving the chain between its jaw with a grunt when it tried to bite at him. 

It did not take him long to find a trough of water, murky from days of being stagnant, but it would do. He shuffled the beast in his grip, holding it by the sides, hands far out of the range of its teeth as he dunked it into the water. Once. Twice. The beast howled and thrashed at first, but after several dunks it seemed to fall limp, only scrunching its face up upon each unceremonious rinse. When Geralt was satisfied the worst had been taken off, and the water was a thick brown, he dropped the creature to the ground, holding the chain tight lest it try to run. 

It did, however, pose another issue. He could not well take it back to the straw, nor his room, wet. He glanced about and noted the fence he'd first tied Roach to upon his arrival, and dragged the sodden creature to it, wrapping the chain several times and looping the links. He did not quite trust the people to leave the beast alone, however, especially not if Johan and his...Companions were feeling rather vindictive. A glance about found the innkeep's boy, and he motioned him over. The boy startled, looked about near hopefully, then crept closer. 

"You've no need to get close, if he scares you. But I need you to watch him for the time it takes to pack and saddle my horse. There's three coppers for you, if you do so" Geralt huffed, motioning to the beast. It stood spread-legged and stiff again, head lowered, and it was positively, resolutely glaring at him. Quite genuinely, _glaring_. It was nigh the exact same glower that Jaskier had tossed him on several occasions, flat and seething. It was almost enough to startle a smile from the Witcher. The boy shuffled nervously, then nodded, setting down his sweeping brush. 

"I just...Stand here? And watch 'im?" The boy asked. Geralt nodded. 

"Scream if he breaks loose or someone comes for his hide" the Witcher remarked, and turned for the inn. 

He paced himself the best he was able, and as much as Roach would tolerate, and when he led her out into the mid-day sunshine, the boy was still exactly where Geralt had left him, eyes fixed steadily on the wolf, which was sat primly like a dog. It's unruly fur stuck up in patches, wet in some places and drying in others, but it undoubtedly looked cleaner for its impromptu, unwilling cleanse. At the sound of hooves the boy twisted to look back at him, face scrunching. 

"You've a wolf as a dog, Mister?" He asked, and Geralt gave a thoughtful _hmm_. He supposed, for now, that he well did. The runt was even on a leash. It amused him, vaguely. To think of the bold pup, trussed in polished leather and chain. Much like Jaskier, the first time that Geralt had forced him to wear armour. Or Yennefer, the lone time he had tried to please her with clothing. Though arguably, Yennefer had been far truer with her complaints. Jaskier often complained just for the sake of it, like it sustained him. 

"What's his name?" The boy asked next, pocketing the three coppers that Geralt handed him and taking Roach's reins as the Witcher made for his beast, taking it from the fence and dragging it to Roach's heels. The beast walked stiff and unwilling, but put up less of a fight than it had before. Though it still closed its teeth around the chain and gnawed with admirable determination. Geralt swung his leg over Roach's back and looped the chain and leather around the horn of his saddle, and did not think twice to answer as he spurred Roach into a trot. 

"Dandelion". 

He'd already humiliated the beast. What more was a name by a flower? 

At the gates of Dillengen, Geralt hesitated. He could follow the Yaruga river upwards, leave the beast back at the forest where he'd found it. Or there was the main forest in Brugga, thick and lush with life but heavily accosted by hunters, trappers and bandits. The pup would like fall victim to any, especially with its apparent intent on using humans to garner food. The more he thought about it...The less suitable each place he suggested became. Any forest he could think of was either months and months away, or would be susceptible to humans.

Geralt didn't quite know why he cared so. It was very well an option to toss the beast like a stick into the Yaruga forest and spur Roach on. It would not have the energy to keep pace with him - And it would only be the course of nature if the beast died. And who was Geralt to infringe on the delicate law of Life? It was a balance best not upset. 

And yet. 

Kaer Morhen was an option. The very nature of the place kept anyone that was not a Witcher far from its lands, and the rocky mountains made it undesirable for any hunter, no matter how rich with wildlife the area was. Though the clumsy beast was like to topple off a mountain, it was a safe bet. If it was so truly accustomed to humans upon their arrival, Geralt knew that Vesemir would attend to it. When Geralt had first arrived, Vesemir had made much of a pet of a massive, black bear. When it had died from injuries in the mating season, Vesemir had made a rug of it. 

But Kaer Morhen would take months to reach, even on a steady path. To say nothing of how long it would take as he made stops to garner coin from contracts. The aim was to be rid of the beast as quickly as possible. It took a moment of thought before he remembered the easiest way to travel anywhere. 

Portal. 

But that meant finding a sorceress or mage powerful enough to conduct such magic. Yennefer could, but Geralt knew she would rather sic the wolf upon him than see him again, much less do him a favour. The closest place he knew to have a mage near Dillengen was Cintra, but the charred remains of the place were still in squabble, and all who had resided there had been butchered. There was like to be no mage at all. Geralt heaved a sigh, eyes looking down at the pup. Gods, but why could he just not kill it? Or dump it and be done? 

But he knew why. 

He could head North, to Gors Velen. It was a modest kingdom and was like to have a mage or sorceress. If it did not, Vizima was but a months ride, a larger kingdom that was certain to have at least one, if not both. Roach whickered beneath him, impatient to set off, and he looked down at the pup again, before setting his spurs to her. "If there is no mage in either, I shall find a forest and leave you there, to whatever fate Destiny has for you" Geralt decided. It was the best that he could do. The minimal that Jaskier would accept of him. And Gods, when did he ever start doing anything because _Jaskier_ would approve of it? 

But he knew exactly when. It was the exact same time that Jaskier went from a rasping file on his nerves to...To companionship. To friendship. When Geralt wanted him to stay in equal proportion to wanting him to leave. When wanting him to leave was less for Geralt's self-inflicted lonesome but more for the protection of the bard. More so that, selfishly, Geralt would not have to watch him get hurt, or would not have to leave him behind one day when he was too old or slow or sick to keep up. 

It was hard enough when the horses fell or when he had to trade them off for a fresher mount. Not that Geralt would ever admit to such a weakness. If he was known to feel sadness over what was perceived as a dumb beast, what would people think of him? 

He knew what Jaskier would think. He remembered the first time the bard watched him hunt food, start to finish. The horror on his face when Geralt had gripped the thrashing rabbit and snapped its neck. 

He went to move Roach into a trot, when he drew her to a halt, instead, looking down. The pup was moving alongside them, neck stretched, paws quick but dragging. Geralt cursed himself. Of course - The whelp was sickly and starved. It would not be able to cover much land, not on foot, and he heaved a sigh. His pace had just dropped by far more than even if Jaskier were there. The beast would likely not be able to manage more than the pace Geralt had set in the forest - A slow amble and the occasional burst of trot. Especially not if it was nursing bruised sides. 

"Melitele help me" he grumbled, and set Roach off at the most sluggish pace he could convince her to keep. Geralt kept half a mind on the time, and when two hours had passed, he drew Roach to a halt on the side of the dirt road, looking down at his travel companion. This would not do. They had barely covered several miles. With a deep sigh, he threw his leg over his horse, watching the wolf as it eyed him warily, tail twitching behind it as he hauled on the chain. It stretched its neck, heels digging into the dirt, but it slid uselessly over the loose grit, straight into Geralt's arms where it begun that relentless squirming as he heaved it up into his hold.

Mounting up again with the whelp was awkward, but eventually he was settled in the saddle and he let himself sink back a little, until there was enough room between his thighs and the horn of the saddle to unceremoniously wedge the beast. It snapped at him, but seemed to lack the energy to put any real force behind it, paws sliding on the leather of his saddle before it simply...Flopped there. As though yet again accepting whatever Geralt had mind to do with it. 

Geralt watched it as Roach begun her usual, striding walk, eyed the ridges of its bones and the tufts of its fur as it bounced about before him, paws dangling in the air. "Hm. If you're lucky, there will be something bigger than a hare along the way" Geralt informed it, and raised his gaze to the road. Near dusk, he set the wolf down again, and let it more or less roam on the length of chain as he turned Roach off the path and into the forest. The pup ambled along, sniffing at shubbery, taking its frustration out on helpless sticks, and narrowly avoiding being tamped by Roach on the odd moment it decided to test its luck. 

He found a tree with a low, sturdy branch, and looped Roach to it, releasing the bit from her mouth and unloading her of her haul. The Ribbon river was on the outskirts of the forest, but beyond their immediate reach, so he offered her a handful from his canteen and made mind to alter his course in the morning to re-stock on water. Brokilon was a place bountiful in forest and water that splintered off towards the ocean. As Geralt filled a small cup for the wolf, he mused aloud. 

"Gors Velen is on the coast. If my friend were here, you'd never hear the end of it. He'd a thing for the coast. I suppose he liked the warmth. He always did prefer near South". The wolf paused in where it had been twisting itself in knots in an attempt to chew its harness, and blinked at him as he approached. When he set the cup down, the beast came immediately closer, nose twitching side to side, hardly waiting for him to back off before it shoved its muzzle into the offering, drinking the cup dry and licking its smooth surface in an attempt to leave nothing behind. 

He looped it to the same tree as Roach, trusting her to exercise patience and the wolf not to try its luck, and took his hunting weapons of choice, making deeper into the woodland to see if he could find anything for them to eat that night. He'd prefer to leave his rations well alone until the forestry became more field and trail, where there would be little to hunt. He was yet again working to fill _two_ bellies, and needed to plan carefully. He was not going through all of this effort for the damned thing to die of hunger on the road, at his side. 

He managed two small, grey birds and a snake, and when they were dead and tied to his hip, he took the tall, wooden tankard he'd brought and burrowed amidst the rotting wood and the foliage, filling it as much as he could with bugs. Jaskier might turn his nose up - But bugs were rich in energy and protein, with little fat. If he used a rock to crush them into a paste of sorts, he could coat or stuff his birds with it, and the taste would be more bearable. 

When he returned, Roach was grazing calmly and the wolf pup had flopped down on the grass, sprawled on its side, eyes closed. For a moment Geralt wondered if Roach had kicked it and made all his efforts for nothing, but then its little paws twitched and its muzzle lifted a little and it became clear the beast had settled for a nap whilst Geralt went about the effort of getting its dinner. The Witcher rolled his eyes and set his kills down, settling to grind the bugs before he stood, gathering firewood from about their camp. As he worked the wolf rolled to its stomach, legs tucked up, watching him with round, curious eyes. 

"You could learn to help, you know. Dogs fetch sticks for their masters" he pointed out, but the wolf just blinked at him, paws flexing in the dirt. Geralt grunted and stoked the fire, letting it build and warm as he plucked the birds. Their feathers were soft, the ends rounder more than spiked, and he added them to his feather pouch. If he could garner enough on his travels, he might be able to make a small blanket or a pillow. Or he could trade them in the next village he came across. The ladies were fond of feathers in their hats, and many a seamstress would pay for good, soft feathers. 

The snake took longer to skin, its hide leathery and tough, and he rubbed a little salt onto it once it was done, setting the skin aside to dry out through the night. Snakeskin was good for handles, and he had a mind to replace the handle on his short dagger. The leather was worn and rubbed near through in places. All the while, the wolf watched intently, gaze fixed upon him and his ministrations. With his bounty roasting on the fire, Geralt took out his dagger, and pointed it at the wolf. 

"You can have half a bird, and half the snake. The next time you get hungry, perhaps you can teach yourself to hunt your own meals" he grunted at it, and worked to strip the dagger of its leather. When it was done he turned the kills, and unpacked his bedroll, spreading it close to the flames. In the time it took to fully cook his bounty, he picked his shoes clean of stones, rubbed the sweat from Roach's tack and used his fingers to comb the tangles from his hair. 

After a moment of considering, he tore any bones he could find from the beast's portion, not trusting that it wouldn't simply gulp down the meat and choke. He did not plan on ending his night by shoving his hand down the gaping maw of a beast. When he was sure any small, chokable bones were rid, he tossed the halves at the wolf, watching as it attempted to snatch them from the air. "You've a lot of skills to work on" he informed it before biting into the snake. The bugs lent it an earthy, gritty taste, but the birds were rich and chewy and both served well to warm and fill his stomach. 

The night was dark when he settled into his bedding, head cushioned on his arm, watching the flames. Across the way the wolf shuffled on its stomach, crawling as close towards the warmth as the chain allowed. When it was satisfied, it tucked itself back into a tight ball, chin atop its paws and its tail tucked close, to prevent the heat from its belly escaping. Once settled, it glanced at him, watching him in return for several long moments, before it closed its eyes firmly, as though announcing that the day was done. 

"Rest well, Dandelion. We've lots of ground to cover tomorrow" he advised the beast, his own eyes falling shut against the golden glow of the firelight. 


End file.
